The Annals of a Dwarf
by GamerGalKat
Summary: A complete, original history on a dwarf known as Ovgrim Cadash. Before he became Inquisitor, he was a man raised by a family with very strict traditions. He had to walk, talk, and act the way his father told him to. So how did he become the sweet, loving dwarf he is today? To discover this, one must travel back to his childhood. *Set years before Dragon Age Inquisition*
1. It Begins At Birth

Ovgrim Cadash.

The Inquisitor. The Herald of Andraste. A Carta smuggler.

For a dwarven man whose history is only known for what he's done for the Inquisition, it is hardly any surprise to discover that he's part of an elite gang of thugs. Did he choose this life? No. If it were up to him, he would've left, and make a different, possibly better choice for himself. But how does one abandon his family when that is what he honors? He respects them, even when they spat in his face.

These chapters are the annals of his life, the story he doesn't normally tell anyone. He fears people will pity him when he does not want pity. He wants respect, understanding, and for everyone to accept him for who he truly is. And that is a dwarf, who has broken his family's traditional traits to be his own person.

* * *

Darkness.

That was all he could see. The warmth around him is soothing, like a never-ending blanket of love. But what is he? Where is he going? Will he ever gain his sight? As if an unknown being heard his curious thoughts, a light began to glisten in the distance. And like a moth to a flame, he was pushed towards it. Whether he was being pushed or pushing himself, he didn't know. But the light was closer now. What awaited him there?

Voices. Clamouring voices, and a woman screaming in agony. What is this? Why was it scary all of a sudden? "It's a boy!" a voice exclaims, the other voices clamouring around him excitedly. Hands grasped him, cradling him, as if inspecting him. Ten fingers, ten toes... everything was there. It's too much to bear, however. He begins kicking and screaming in terror.

"Feisty little guy, ain't he?" a older man's voice quipped, laughing to himself. He didn't know this voice. Who is that? What was happening? Make it stop! "How's the boss?" another asked, the tone in his voice more worried than the other. Strange. He sounded familiar, but only a little. "Ahh, she's fine. She's a fighter, that one." The baby screams louder, trying to beg for all of this to end, to go back to where he came from. This place was terrifying, huge, and noisy. He didn't want to be here.

"Let's clean the lad up, and remove this cord," the older man said. "That way his mama can hold him. A mother's touch will calm a crying baby, as my grandfather use to say."

Mama?

Yes. He's heard that term before. In the darkness, there was always a female voice present with him. Always singing a song to him, always reading to him. She called herself Mama. Mama. But her voice wasn't here this time. Where was she? Where is Mama?

The men cleaned up the screaming babe and cut his umbilical cord, patching him up a bit to stop the bleeding. One of them was holding the babe, gently yet firm enough to not drop the wiggling child. "Mirvia!" His calm voice could barely contain his excitement. "He has your eyes. And what a head of hair! He's so tiny, too!" The man gasped quietly, his eyes welling up in tears. "This is the first time I've ever seen a dwarven baby... Maker's breath! He's so beautiful."

A sigh. The baby's heard that sigh before.

Mama!

He kicks and screams louder, begging to be with her, to have her hold him close and never let him go again. The somewhat familiar voice tries to soothe him, but it doesn't work. He didn't want this man. He wanted Mama!

"Here..."

Her voice was weak, but happy. Has she truly been here this entire time? "Easy, Mirvia. He's a kicker!" the man joked, handing the baby over to the mother that laid in bed, exhausted from the insurmountable pain that is from the labours of birth. She sighed softly, shaking her head at him.

"Nonsense. He's only frightened by the big, scary world..."

As she took the child into her arms, cradling him for the first time, the baby begins to calm himself. Not right away, but slowly. He was familiarizing himself with this woman. Her scent, her voice, her warmth. The baby gripped as hard as he could with his little hands on his mother's tunic, a calmer cry escaping him as he listens to her soothing voice. "My little star," she whispers in a tired voice. She wraps a blanket around him, her hair matted with sweat as she cradles him protectively in her arms. "You're so handsome... just like your father. If only he were here to see this. To see you..." "Mirvia." The other familiar voice didn't sound too please with what he heard. "He doesn't deserve this beautiful thing. He left you after that night. If he loved you, he wouldn't have-"

But Mama shushes the man, kissing her baby upon his head. "He can hear your stress. Speak calmly..." She looks down upon her beautiful baby boy, gazing upon the matching blue eyes that glisten back into hers. A smile lit up her features as tears formed in her eyes again, but this time, they were tears of undying love for the child in her arms.

"Isn't that right, Ovgrim?"

* * *

He is screaming, kicking. There is a loud sound that terrifies him. The sounds of clashing rumbles and flashing lights are too much for the little tot, who was wrapped in multiple blankets for warmth against the cold winds. He was not hungry. He was not tired. He was terrified. However, a voice would soon come and soothe him, a voice he will unknowingly forget in the coming years. But the song shall not.

The song will forever remain in his memory.

"There, there. Do not cry, my little star." The voice is sweet, so kind and warm. Mama? "It will be over soon. It's only a little rain."

"Are you sure you want to do this? You don't have to. He doesn't deserve Ovie!" The other familiar voice? What was he doing? Why was he following Mama? "I have to do this. He's not safe with me... not with our job."

The rain was coming down even harder in the darkness, soaking the cloaked figures even more than before. It was hard to even make out the streets at this rate, or even scurry towards their destination. But she had to press on. If she kept him with her, if she raised him...

No.

This was for the best.

Her job made her always move around, never sticking to one place for very long. Not only that, it was extremely dangerous, for their job required them to fight monsters or bandits for their clients. To raise a child in those conditions, who is defenseless and pure... The idea alone is maddening. So she pressed on, her thoughts clear with a heavy heart. To only have her little star for less than a couple months, and already she must give him up. If only things were different, if only she was not a mercenary. Motherhood was the one thing she desperately wanted, and even her son's father knew that. It was a dream they talked about so often after a night together. Not that it mattered to him, anyhow. They were not exactly married.

"Mirvia. He left you. What makes you think he'll watch Ovie?" The dwarven woman with sparkling blue eyes stopped in her tracks, her back towards her human companion. Must he truly ask her this? It was clear when she told him of her fear, of what could happen to her little star. Didn't her lieutenant understand that? "Gerald. I have to protect him. I will not live with myself if my little star... if he..." The dwarven woman spun around on her heels, cradling the basket with the slightly calm baby inside.

"If my son dies in my care, I will never forgive myself. Do you understand? I cannot let that happen!"

She turns her back to him again, tucking the child's blankets tighter on him to keep him warm and dry. "At least, under Gerraht's care, he'll be safe. He will know who his father is." Gerald scoffed under his breath. "That may be... but will he know about his real mother?" Mirvia is silent to the questioning, ignoring the man as she begins to coo the babe to sleep. She couldn't answer him right now.

"...we should hurry. My little star will catch his death of cold if we continue to waltz in this weather." Gerald waited for her to answer him before sighing, nodding his head in defeat. Of course she wouldn't answer him. He already knew the answer himself. Mirvia would take the child to his real father, and allow the boy to be raised by him, and a woman who didn't deserve to be his mother. If it were up to him, he would treat Mirvia like a queen, love Ovgrim like his own flesh and blood. He would protect them both, and be the best father he could be.

But he knew she didn't feel that way for him, like he does for her.

She still had feelings for the dwarf known as Gerraht Cadash.

"Gerald?"

Her voice catches him, bringing his mind back to reality. It was too much to hope she would change her mind, to let him be Ovgrim's father. To let him love her like she deserved. "I'm still here. Sorry about that," he mutters softly, moving swiftly to stand beside her. "Let's go now... get him someplace warm."

* * *

The older dwarven woman peered out the window in the drawing room of their manor, watching the storm patter harshly against the glass. It caused her to stop her sewing for a moment to observe it. The weather seemed so wild tonight. It was certainly a storm unlike any other. Her calm, slightly wrinkled face contoured a smile upon her rosy colored lips, before she turned to the cloth in her hands, continuing her sewing.

Her daughter-in-law sat across from her with pen and parchment, obviously tallying up the profits from today's endeavours. They were quite the powerful family, House Cadash, being feared among the others of their class. She would have to thank her late husband's side of the family for establishing that fear in the dwarven community. She gazed up at the young, fiery haired woman, sighing softly. "Lelinda, dear. Why don't you put that aside for now? Relax."

The young woman scoffed, ignoring her mother-in-law's kind approach. She had too much to do to stop now. If she slacks off, so will their personnel. Their cooks, their servants, their couriers, even their guards. And then there's the Carta, who are still awaiting for their "compensation" from today's petty ordeal. What was it again? Moving crates of lyrium? Gerraht's youngest brother got some of the lyrium dust in his eyes today after one of the crates broke, and nearly blinded himself. The boy hasn't exactly been the same since. It wasn't very noteworthy to her, either. All she cared about were the numbers. If anyone got hurt, she'll just replace them with more able bodied workers, family included. Time is money, as they say.

Heavy, practically tired sounding footsteps thumped through the door of the drawing room, revealing to have belonged to a dwarf with long, dark blonde locks and matching beard, with eyes as brown as chestnuts. He made his way over to his chair by the fireplace and flopped down on it, his breath letting out an exhausted groan. Today was simply horrible. His poor baby brother, getting lyrium dust in his eyes. He wasn't hurt severely, but he definitely will not act entirely himself. He shouldn't have allowed him to go. "How is he, darling?" He heard the older woman ask, his chair positioned right in front of the fireplace, unable to see her. He sighs in response, slouching a little. "Thor's... Thor is all right, Mother. Duergan is with him right now. I just feel terrible. I caused this! I shouldn't have let him come..."

She put her sewing materials down as she heard her son explain things, thinking of her two sons that were still trying to help her youngest child. Gerraht, being the oldest, always put the blame on himself whenever the two younger brothers got hurt. He felt responsible for them, even when she knew she raised them better than that. All four of her sons were brave, strong men. "Gerraht. I know you're worried about Thorthal." His mother's sweet voice glided towards him, calming his nerves a little. He could hear her getting up from her chair and approaching him, her heels deftly clicking against the thick carpet. "But if I raised him right, then I know that he'll be just fine. My four boys have grown up to be so strong..." A hand came over to pinch his cheek, causing Gerraht to grunt in surprise. "And so handsome, of course!" "Mother! Please! Not this again," he complained, gently swatting her hand away. "Do not swat your mother's hand away, young man. I can easily knock you flat on your behind from where I'm standing." He twisted his head enough to see his mother crossing her arms, giving him a look he knew all too well. The "if looks could kill" kind of stare.

"I'll be good, Mother. Don't you worry none."

"That's my boy. So smart and good to your mother."

Lelinda quietly scoffed to herself as she listened to them, her glaring emerald eyes rolling as she glances at them. "Do you two mind? If I am to keep the other Carta dogs off our back, then I need to concentrate. We have a bit of coin that needs to be spared in order to rid ourselves of the city guards attention." She returns to her parchment, scribbling something down before adding in a rude tone of voice. "Perhaps if your youngest wasn't so daft, Olevia, he would've been smart enough to not rub the stuff in his eyes..."

"Lelinda, that's enough."

Gerraht's voice was powerful and clear, almost terrifyingly so. It caused the young, fiery haired woman to scoff and sit back in her seat, continuing her scribblings on the parchment as a curl fell from her bun. Olevia shook her head and began to fix her son's coat, who sat like a statue in his chair. "She certainly has spirit, I'll give her that. That's why your father chose her for you to marry. May the Stone guide him... he was a good man." She fixed the collar on her son's coat, giving him a warm smile. She could see the disgust on his face at the mentioning of his father. "I know you will be an even greater man, my son. You're a natural born leader. You could change how things are around here..." "No, Mother."  
Again, Gerraht's voice was powerful, piercing the air around them like how a butcher knife carves meat. "Father said that our tradition is important. House Cadash was banished from Orzammar centuries ago because of an ancestor's poor decision." His eyes lingered soullessly into the flickering flames before him, watching the red organic life dance within the fireplace.

"We are casteless, plain and simple. And even if a new king sits upon the throne that changes the rules, we are still casteless. We simply go by 'surface dwarf' to please ignorant fools who understand nothing of our customs... nor our family's rules."

Olevia swallowed hard at the sound of her son's voice, every aspect of his father unknowingly shining through. The eldest of her four children, and he had to follow his father's old, practically cruel ways of running this family. She didn't want that. She wanted them to be free, to create a new life for themselves, to create their own rules. She respected their dwarven traditions, but there comes a time when one must find a new purpose in their belief. Not continue the madness of cruel old kings.

"But... your bother, Garilan. He settled down with that pottery girl, and he seemed happy." Gerraht snorted quietly. "She isn't the woman Father chose for him. So he disowned Garilan, remember?" Olevia sighed, nodding her head. She remembered how her husband practically exiled her second eldest from ever returning home, all because he preferred a quiet life with his true love. She tucked a strand of her son's hair behind his ear, gently trailing her fingers along his cheek. "Yes, but... he was still happy, regardless." Her son grumbled to himself, bowing his head as his hands gripped the arms of his chair. Garilan and him were so close, almost thick as thieves. He was the only one who knew his secret, too. The one about her.

His first, true love.

What an affair it was.

"I am happy, Mother," he responded in a gruff voice, trying to end this conversation. "I have our house, a beautiful wife, our family name, coin. I don't need anything else." Olevia sighed. Of course her eldest would say this. He saw what happens when his brother rebelled against their father, telling him what he wanted and his idea of happiness. Her late husband was disappointed in him, and threw him out. She loved her husband dearly, for there were days when he was a good, decent man. But tradition was important to him, for his family stressed it every day over the centuries since House Cadash was exiled. To see Gerraht become this... it brought a heavy sadness to her heart.

"Perhaps we should get ourselves to bed," his mother finally suggested, returning to her chair by the window. "There is much to do tomorrow, especially with Thorthal. I want to make him some scones and-" Suddenly, a bright blue cloak in the darkness outside her window startled her, the mysterious figure cradling what looks like a baby basket. What were they doing outside their doorstep? She didn't know of any recent mothers.

"Is something wrong, Mother?" Gerraht asked, standing from his chair and coming to her side. He unknowingly grabbed the attention of his wife, who glanced up from the parchment to watch this commotion before her. Olevia glanced at her son for a moment before staring back out the window, confused as to why this person was here, especially with a child out in this weather. She watched the mysterious, blue cloaked figure approach their door, settling down the basket and kneeling before it. Gerraht gazed upon the figure at last, just as confused as his mother is.

Except, when he saw that familiar blue cloak, his heart immediately sank into the pit of his stomach.

Could it be..? No. Impossible! She couldn't have had..!

"My dear husband! You're pale! It's as if you saw an apparition," Lelinda gasped, immediately jumping up to stand by his side. She, too, gazed upon the cloaked figure outside, noting that his eyes were watching something. As she saw them, she cared not for why they were there, for her face flared in utter anger at the sight of unknown figures in their courtyard. "Intruders? Are they trying to sneak their way through the front door?! Ugh, amateurs!" She was about to call out to a guard when Gerraht grabbed her arm, silently forbidding her from doing such a thing. It confused her, her eyes giving him a disappointed look.

He knew exactly who it was. How could he forget? Memories of their nights together flooded his mind, filled his ears with the sounds of her voice gasping in pleasure, his throat letting out a snarl when she clawed on his back, their bodies performing a synchronized dance no matter who was on top. These were the memories he tried to force himself to forget. But why was she here, standing at his doorstep with a baby basket? She couldn't have actually... No, it can't be. It was impossible.

Wasn't it?

"They have a companion," his mother pointed out, his eyes registering what his mother perceived. The new figure came and gently tugged at the arm of the other, trying to pull their kneeling friend away, to leave the basket alone on their doorstep. It truly can't be what he thinks it is. Gerraht couldn't believe it. "They're leaving without it? Oh no." His mother sounded worried, the three of them witnessing the two figures breaking away slowly from the basket. Now that they were standing, it was clear one was human whilst the other was a dwarf.

It had to be her. It just had to!

The human knocked loudly on the door before tugging the dwarf away, who's eyes could not tear off the baby within the basket. And by the look of sheer horror upon his face, something told Olevia that her son knew who these two were. But there was no time to ask. The baby was alone and needed someone to care for it! She was not going to let the poor babe sit in the rain a moment longer!

Olevia was the first to run past her son and his wife, her only thought being that of the baby. The poor thing must be terrified out of their mind! She couldn't let it suffer for another second out there! Gerraht and Lelinda quickly followed her outside the room and rushed downstairs towards the front doors of their manor, Gerraht beating both women there to it. He practically swung them off of their hinges to reveal a lone baby basket on his doorstep, causing the hardened, Carta smuggler king to freeze in his spot once again. This was real. The baby is real! It was quiet a moment until a spell of thunder rumbled a bit too loudly, causing the child within to fuss frightfully.

"Ancestors! The poor dear!" His mother brushed past him and knelt before the basket, not caring if her dress got filthy from the downpour. Her eyes welled up in tears as she sees the most beautiful baby boy inside, wrapped in many layers of blankets to keep him warm and dry. She couldn't help but gasp almost excitedly at the sight. Such a precious child... why did those strangers leave him here? It was clear that he was well-loved, but why bring the baby here?

"Let's get him inside, quickly!" Olevia exclaimed, grabbing the basket's handle, and carrying the baby within the manor.

As they returned to the drawing room, Olevia sat the basket on the floor and got to her knees. She wanted to get a good look at the child, to show him to her son and her daughter-in-law. Lelinda looked upon the babe from above the cheerful older woman, a displeased expression on her slightly rosy face. She didn't want to raise this thing. It was not of her blood, nor her husband's. Gerraht, on the other hand, couldn't seem to process the information fast enough. Was this truly happening right now? Was any of this actually real? He leaned on the door frame of the room, watching in silence as his mother looked at the baby.

"Oh Gerraht! Lelinda!" she practically squealed, so overjoyed that a baby was in the house again. She peeled the blankets away to allow him to be free, the baby taking this opportunity to stretch and start fussing. "He's so beautiful! Just look at these little hands!" She picked up the tired baby and held him close, not noticing the letter within at first. "Oh Gerraht... he's so precious! Look at him!" Olevia was overly excited by the little babe, who began to fuss terribly as the thunder rumbled violently outside. She softly coos him, cradling him so closely in her arms. She knew right then and there, he was frightened by the sounds of thunder.

He heard the woman's voice more clearly, the one who cradled him close to her breast as she shushed him calmly. "There there, little one. Your Nana's got you now..." Nana? Nana. She was warm and smelled good, and spoke so softly. A hand broke free from the thin blanket to gripped her dress, not wanting to let go. He felt safe, loved. He loved his Nana so much.

But soon her eyes did inspect the basket, and incidentally discovered that the folded letter rested inside, addressed to none other than her eldest son. "Gerraht? This letter is..."

Her son could not move from his spot at the door, could not bare the idea that this child could be... "It's addressed to you, darling," his mother called gently, but Gerraht didn't hear her. He had to be dreaming! This child couldn't be..! She never told him that she was..!

"Gerraht!"

His wife snapped him back to reality, causing him to look at his mother as she takes the letter out of the basket. She held the baby close as she gave her son the letter, not once wanting to put the baby down. Lelinda crossed her arms as she raised a brow at them. How exactly did these strangers know her husband? Why would they leave the fussy brat with them? Her gaze would fall upon her husband, who simply stood there holding the now opened letter in his hands.  
Why was he so quiet? Ever since those figures came and left the child, he's been acting strangely himself. It was painfully obvious Gerraht knew who they were, but what did this have to do with the baby? Did he promise to care for it? He never discussed this with her! "Gerraht," Lelinda called, her voice sharp when his name rolls off her tongue. He glanced over in his wife's direction, but didn't keep it there long. His eyes would return to the paper in his hands.

"'His name is... Ovgrim,'" he read aloud, glancing up at his mother and wife a moment. Ovgrim. It was a surprisingly fitting name. "Ovgrim? What a strong name for such a handsome boy!" Olevia said delightfully, nudging her nose against the baby's. Her son made his way towards the fireplace, his back turned to the women as the lighting illuminated the letter. "And... he's a couple of months and four days old. His parents wants us to raise him as our own. That's... That's what it says." Lelinda quietly came behind her husband and peeked over at his shoulder, her eyes darting quickly over the words that were written. Her thin, sharp brows furrowed angrily as she discovers the truth behind the origin of the baby named Ovgrim.

"You spineless bastard."

Olevia shot a look at her daughter-in-law, confusion setting in. "Who's Mirvia?" Gerraht's head snapped to his wife, the name from his memories flooding his mind again. "I don't know what you're talking about," he lied coolly, trying to keep his posture as she snorts in disbelief. He stood there, expressionless, obviously trying to remain cool under pressure. She shook her head, her eyes never leaving his. So that's how he wants to play it now, is it? "Is that right," she said disgustedly, snatching the letter from his hands and pointing at the words. "So what's that right there, huh? 'If any part of you still cares about me,' wha- what is that?!" It was clear that Lelinda saw something on that letter to cause such a scene. Olevia, herself, was curious to know who this Mirvia was. Why hasn't her son mention her before? "Oh please, _dear_ _husband_! Don't keep us in suspense now! Is she your little concubine, your little plaything? Speak up!"

Gerraht continued to play it cool, still giving those emotionless faces at her. Every fiber of his being wanted to scream at her, to give in and become angry, but he knew. Anger wasn't going to fix this."It was before you," Gerraht answered calmly, causing his wife to snarl viciously. He knew she was outraged. He didn't blame her. It was a well guarded secret no one knew but him. He turned his back to the women, his arm resting on the back of his chair while he gazed into the flames. They flickered and danced before him, flashing images of his time with the mercenary known as Mirvia Cariras.

"It was... about three years ago. She was a mercenary defending a client, some merchant king from Orlais that was visiting Kirkwall. There was a forged document that someone in the Carta placed in the wrong man's desk at the docking office, and I was tasked with removing it." Gerraht gazed upon the flames, which flickered Mirvia's face to him as he remembers their duel. She was protecting her client, and thinking he was the assassin her client feared, she attacked him. Both fought amicably, her sword and shield versus his dual swords. She was talented, her attacks so relentless, but when he disarmed her and pinned her to the wall, she fell silent in defeat. She begged him to kill her, to end her suffering that is of a broken heart. But Gerraht admired her, fell for her beauty and strength, and instead of killing her, he let her go. So easily he could've killed her, but they allowed a relationship to grow, for he desired her, and she was lonely after the death of her first love, a human. He wanted to treat her like a queen.

But suddenly, he remembers back to that time they spent one last night together. He knew he shouldn't have stayed with her that night, shouldn't have said yes to her request. But the memories were too clear now.

She wore that blue tunic he loved on her so much, which showed off her elegant shoulders as her hair fell loose around them. He could hear her quietly quivering in his ear when his lips made contact with her skin, his hands tangling in her crisp, shiny brunette locks as they fell backwards on her cot. He remembers how their legs were twisted together, how her cries of pleasure matched with every movement he made within her. It was their last night in bed together, and he knew he would never see her again after this. He had to make the most of it, to let it be a night neither of them could forget.

But the worst part of all? He remembered how he left her laying in bed alone the following morning, and returned home to be married to Lelinda that same day.

"We always met in secret. It was thrilling, actually. Almost like a secret love affair that wasn't even that... however, when Father presented you to me, Lelinda, I knew. From that moment, Mirvia and I were no more. I had already broken so many rules just by falling for her. So I made a decision. I left her." "And the child?!" Lelinda asked harshly, her nostrils flaring angrily as she tries to breathe through the nose. He sighed as he turned towards his mother, watching the baby snuggle so lovingly into her dress. "...she asked me for one last night with her. She said it was up to me to decide, and I chose... to sleep with her." He gasped quietly to himself as the baby opened his eyes a little, seeing what looked like _her_ eyes. To think this little tyke is of his blood, when he showed more signs of being his mother's child? Was such a thing truly possible? For him to have a child at all?

Mirvia never contacted him, never left any hints or messages for him after that night. She kept her distance, like she promised she would. If only they were on speaking terms, he would've wanted to know everything. He would've been there for her when he was born.

Their son.

 _His_ son.

"How could you? You lied to me!" Lelinda griped, causing her husband to spin on his heel and shout. "I didn't know she would become pregnant! She probably didn't know either." He approached his wife and forcefully grabbed her wrist, retrieving the letter from her petite hands. "But do not stand there, and tell me that I didn't try to fix this! Because I tried, Lelinda! I wanted to be a good husband and leader, just like Father wanted!"

It was at this point the baby screamed in terror at the loud shouting matches his father was in, causing Olevia to try and calm him as she rocks him back and forth, singing a soothing lullaby to him. She knew that the shouting was getting to him, and that he was frustrated. The poor thing was so worn out. "What else does the letter say, son? I want you to read every word." Her son and his wife had a vicious stare off for a long time, both so silent for some time before he looked upon the letter again. He read it aloud, word for word.

"'If any part of you still cares about me, then you will care for our son in my stead. I am unfit for this task, as my mercenary company forces me to travel. Only you can keep him safe.'" He looks upon the baby in his mother's arms, seeing the fussy child grip her dress so tightly again. Did she truly believe he could protect the babe? No. His babe. He swallowed the lump in his throat, trying to ignore this odd feeling in his chest as he continues reading. "'Do this for me. Do it for him, for Ovgrim. My little star deserves a future. Make sure he has one.'" His voice is softer now, his eyes drifting across every word in the letter. A future. Maybe this was the Ancestors way of giving him another chance? If so, then he will make sure Ovgrim has one. The right one. The one Gerraht should've followed from the start. He grimaced at the last words on the paper, his voice saddened by the very lines he spoke aloud next. "'I pray our child will not become another _issue_ in your life. I want him to, at least, know who his father is. Even if it means he will never know who I am.'"

Mirvia. She knew that by leaving their son here, she was abandoning her one dream, the one thing she so desperately wanted. Motherhood. He frowns at the ending of her letter, knowing this would be the very last thing from her for a long time. "'Farewell, Gerraht. This shall be the last you'll hear from me. Please give Ovgrim what I cannot. Yours in confidence, Mirvia.'" All that was left was a footnote, a date and an approximate time when his son was born, but he had already said that aloud before.

His arm droops down as he finishes the letter, his thoughts filled with Mirvia as he gazes over at his son. His mother had already taken a liking to the tyke, already calling herself a grandmother to him. Gerraht sighed heavily as he blinked slowly at the thoughts in his head. Mirvia must've believed this would make her a bad mother, to leave her son here in order to protect him.

By she was far from being a bad mother. She thought of their son first. He wondered if she saw this.

"I knew it," Lelinda snarled quietly, her rosy cheeks flaring worse as she looks at Gerraht so irritatedly. "No wonder I cannot get pregnant. You slept with another woman, and had this _bastard_ child! I cannot believe you!" "Do not call Ovgrim that!" Olevia defended, cradling the child protectively as he began to cry once more. "Well, that's what he is, sweetheart! Accept it or deny it. It matters not to me!" Lelinda clicked her heels as she approached them, pointing at the baby. "You cannot change what he is, and you know it, Olevia," she growled, her eyes so full of hatred and anger. It scared Olevia to see such thing in someone's eyes. It was as if she transformed into an entirely different person.

Lelinda pulled away to allow herself breathe room, her thoughts on their dwarven traditions and her own command. " _It_ needs to be taken to the Deep Roads and left to die. I am not raising some bastard and calling it my son! I refuse!" "Then _I_ will raise him!" Olevia shouted, trying to cover the baby's ears from hearing her angry voice. Gerraht listened to them bicker as his eyes focused on his son, thinking back to what he thought earlier. If this was the Ancestors' way of giving him another chance, to fix the mistakes he made before... then he knew what had to be done.

He will raise his son the way he was raised. He will teach him to follow traditions, to accept the bride that he, as his father, chooses. He will not allow him to fall for a dwarven girl who has no status, like how Garilan did with his pottery wife. And most importantly, he will not allow him to have a whimsical love affair with a woman he has deep feelings for... like he did with Mirvia.

"Gerraht! Get rid of it!"

"...no."

His calm voice was impeccably frightening, how he simply stood there acting so cool and collected. Lelinda turned to her husband, her eyes wide from his answer. How could he allow this? She was absolutely clear that she didn't want it! Her heels clicked against the carpet loudly as she approaches him, her eyes filled with a wild hatred for everything she's hearing. "Excuse me? Did you not hear a single word I said?" "Oh I heard every word," he replied calmly, standing tall and firm before her. "But I am not throwing my son away like yesterday's waste." He approached his mother who still sat on the floor, cradling his crying son. "Mother will tend to him, educate him, raise him on the days we can't. But he will be _our_ son, and we will raise him to be a true dwarf, like Father would want. That is my final word on the matter."

Olevia could not believe what she just heard. Her son was going to raise her grandchild like how her husband raised their children. She couldn't allow that to happen again. She had to protect him, her precious Ovgrim. She will teach him the right things in secret, to be the man _he_ wants to be and not some carbon copy of the past. This would be her private mission, one that she will conquer alone.

"I can do this. I want to, for our little Ovgrim," she responded simply, nestling her head against the baby's. She coos at him again, trying to once again, calm the fussy babe. She will protect him, even from his mother... no. From his stepmother.

Lelinda scoffed angrily, her face contorted in the most hideous way possible. She simply couldn't believe what she was seeing! They were delusional! If they would not get rid of it, then she will. "I will not allow this thing to ruin our family!"

She ran to the small table by her chair, grabbing the hidden letter opener underneath her documents. If no one was to get rid of the thing, then she will have no choice but to do it herself. Lelinda charged towards them with the sharp letter opener, her intention for what she was going to do to the baby clear. Olevia had dropped herself on top of the baby at this point, her motherly instincts to protect her grandson immediately kicking into overdrive as her daughter-in-law was about to attack. However, both women did not count on Gerraht's swiftness to stop her, for he snatched both of his wife's wrists and tackled her to her chair. There was an eerie calmness in his chestnut eyes, one that frightened even Lelinda.

And aroused her darkest fantasies.

"Drop it," he demanded in a terrifyingly calm and stern voice, his eyes not once breaking contact with hers. She gasped excitedly at the sheer power in his voice, immediately obeying his command and dropping the dagger-like object. This was the man she so desperately wanted in bed, forcing her into submission as she begs to be conquered. Who knew all it took to make him come out was to attack the twerp?

Gerraht continued to give his wife the stare down as he released her, standing upright and straightening his coat. "Go to our room. We are retiring for the night." And still he uses a powerful, heart stopping voice. What a rush! She swallows harshly before slowly getting up, straightening out her bodice and skirt before slowly making her way to the door. But before she left the room, she stopped herself. Even with this newfound arousal, this commanding side of her husband she had never seen before tonight, her mind remained the same. This baby may stay in this household, and carry his father's name, but no matter what transpires, she will never accept him.

She refuses.

"This doesn't change anything, dear husband," she responded calmly at last, her back towards them. "Whether or not the child stays, no matter how much you try to convince me, I will never see him as my son. Never." And with that, she departed from the drawing room, her opinion strong as the stone that hardens her heart. Gerraht simply ignored her for now, as his mother and child were more important at this time. He knelt down before them, watching his mother sit up and try to soothe her grandson from all the terrible things that has happened tonight. He watched his son scream into her dress, tears streaming down his cheeks. His eyes and nose were so red from all the crying, his voice nearly gone from the intense screaming he's done. His son seemed so sensitive.

"Give him to me. Let me hold my son."

Olevia hesitated at first, unsure if her son was fit to hold his own child. She almost said no to him, but didn't. She gave her grandson to his father, who seemed to inspect him so closely. Gerraht tightened his lips as he swallowed the returning lump in his throat.

His son was the spitting image of Mirvia.

His big, blue eyes, his shiny brunette hair, his pure and innocent nature...

He realized right then and there, that every time he looks at his son, he's going to see her eyes staring back at him. It would be inevitable.

He holds his son to his chest, listening to him sniffle and hiccup himself to sleep as his father simply cradles him. "Don't worry, my son. Papa will protect you now. You will grow to be a great man, and take my place. This is your purpose now... Ovgrim."

But little did everyone know, that in the coming years that followed to him leading the Inquisition, Ovgrim Cadash will only begin to face a life of hardship and despair, for he would not grow into the man his father imagined.


	2. Hide and Seek

The female dwarf known only as Olevia Cadash sat elegantly in her chair in the garden, enjoying the blossoming of her prized honeysuckle flowers. It was an exceptionally beautiful spring day, which wasn't rare in most cases. Although the weather in Kirkwall could change on the drop of a copper, if it wanted. Being so close to the sea did have an effect on most of the city. She took a sip of her tea, sitting properly like the lady she was as a couple warblers flocked to the nearby birdbath. Their song filled the air with the sound of sweet music, giving this calm evening a very ethereal feel. It was truly a wondrous day.

And what made that day even better, was the sound of a child giggling mischievously behind her.

She didn't move to look behind her. She knew exactly who that was. As a smile graced the lips on her loving, aged face, she simply took another sip of her tea, waiting for the little one behind her to make themselves known. And eventually, he did. A small child, at least three years of age, poked his head out from behind a dwarven statue, watching the older dwarven woman with blonde hair sit peacefully by the honeysuckles. He had been planning this for a while, and by a while, it was really for a minute. He loved moments like these. Fun moments with the ones he loved most. His big blue eyes glistened in the sunlight as he snuck up behind her, crawling on his knees slowly to avoid her seeing him. He loved playing hide and seek with her, and she loved playing with him. He couldn't wait to play their new game, however. She said it would be very hard to play, but for those with a sharp mind, it was a cinch. He thinks she called it chess.

He snuck up closer now.

Just a little more, and he will win their game. She hasn't spotted him yet!

"Hello Ovgrim, darling," he heard her greet him suddenly, simply sipping on her tea. The little boy groaned disappointingly, coming around her chair to climb up on the bench closeby. "How did you know it was me, Nana? You couldn't see me!" His voice was small and childish yet adorable, causing his grandmother to chuckle softly at him. He was such the inquisitive boy, too! She placed her tea cup on the saucer in her other hand, her bright green eyes gazing lovingly into his. "Your giggling gave you away, darling. In hide and seek, one must be as quiet as a mouse, as fast as a horse, and have ears of a wolf." "What do _m_ _ouses_ and horses and wolves have to do with hide and seek?" Olevia laughed sweetly at her grandson, placing her tea and saucer onto the garden table. Such a silly boy, her grandson. He was always asking questions, questions, questions. Olevia loved this newfound discovery within Ovgrim, knowing that he will always ask questions in any given situation. Something told her that whenever a debate would arise, he would listen to all sides of the story before giving his opinion on the matter. She could simply tell this by looking into those pretty blue eyes of his, the ones that matched the sky so perfectly.  
She gave him her sweetest smile as she grips her dress, her voice low in a whisper. "Well... _mice_ are very quiet. Most of the time, we don't notice them because they're small and sneaky creatures. Wolves have very sensitive hearing, which allows them to listen to their sounds of their prey whenever they go hunting. And horses are fast because..." She pulled herself to the edge of her chair, leaning towards her grandson with a sneaky, mischievous grin. "...they have to run away from their Nana when she chases them!" Ovgrim squealed in surprised as his grandmother tried to grab him, indicating that their game of hide and seek wasn't over until she caught him. It was so silly to see Nana run around the garden chasing him. She had to pull up her dress a little in order to not trip and fall, but she didn't mind. In fact, this was one of her play dresses. Olevia hadn't been so ecstatic in such a long time.

It had been three short years since Ovgrim was brought to them. Three years since his father told her of his affair with a dwarven mercenary name Mirvia Cariras. She admired Mirvia, even if she didn't entirely know her on a personal level like her son did. But Gerraht spoke fondly of her when they sat alone in his study, when he would write her a letter about Ovgrim. She knew he shouldn't. He is a married man. This alone was scandalous! If anyone from the dwarven community found out, it would ruin the family name. Not that it isn't already tainted, no thanks to their work with the Carta. However, that was their Ancestors' choice.  
Even with all this, knowing that this was scandalous and that Mirvia isn't his concubine, she desperately loved her grandson. Ovgrim is the sweetest child she's ever seen, and being his primary caretaker, Olevia knew that no matter what, she would raise him to be a humble, honest, and loyal man. And a gentleman that treats women like proper ladies, even when they don't want him to. Her grandson was most certainly the apple of her eye. She knew he will grow to be a wonderful man, a man worthy of one's friendship and respect. He will be the one that changes things. He will not be like all the others in House Cadash that came before him. She knows it.

"You can't catch me, Nana! I'm a fast horsey!"

Olevia had chased her grandson around the garden for some time now. It was proving difficult to catch the little speed demon until she got an idea. The older dwarven woman slipped into another part of the garden, hiding from her grandson who ran ahead. He thought he was winning. If he could tire out his Nana, she won't be able to catch him. He just needed to see how far behind she was. However, upon looking back... "Nana?" He stopped in his tracks, turning around to look for his grandmother. How could he lose a whole grown-up? Did she perform some magic spell to disappear on him? "Nana? Where are you?" His ears picked up a sound that seemed like it came from in front of him, so he stared intensely at the bushes, his hands nervously gripping his tunic and twisting it around in knots. He thought, maybe it had to be Nana. She's hiding from him now. Suddenly, a shadow began to creep up on the young child, silent as a mouse, yet just as swift as a horse. Their hands were up and ready to grab him, ready to snatch him in a surprise attack. Only this attack was simply for fun and games.

The hands suddenly scooped up Ovgrim, causing the boy to let out a surprise shriek as the grabber laughed cheerfully. The boy was being swung around in circles when he looked up at them, literally grinning from ear to ear. "Nana! You got me!"

Olevia was smiling just as bright as he was, laughing alongside her little prince. "Yes I did! See? Even your Nana can be sneaky sometimes." They laughed and spun around a few more times until Olevia simply held the boy closely, cradling him in her arms like she had when he was a babe. She petted his small head, his shiny brown hair not long enough to be put in a tie just yet. He was certainly still the most beautiful baby boy she's ever seen. Her precious grandson that she wouldn't exchange for all the coin in the world. "You are growing up so fast," she whispered in his ear, snuggling her nose into his small shoulder. "Promise Nana you won't get any bigger?" "But Nana," he began, slightly kicking his feet as they dangled. "I can't wait to get bigger. Then I can help Papa and Mama, and you!" Olevia frowned a little at the news, not exactly happy with the idea of his _mother_. Since Ovgrim's arrival, Lelinda's either been very distant or very harsh with the boy, going so far as to ignoring him for almost an entire day as an infant. She has been cold, uncaring, and even devious. And her poor grandson is still oblivious to his step-mother's cruel ways. Perhaps it is for the best.

"Nana? Why do you look sad?" Her grandson's voice caught her off-guard, causing her to laugh gently before kissing his head. "I am all right, my sweet Ovgrim. I am simply... thinking about things." "Like dinner?" he asked excitedly, his blue eyes shooting open wide as his smile did. It simply warmed her heart to see such a loving smile. "Yes! Like dinner. Are you hungry?" The young boy sat up in his grandmother's arms excitedly, nodding his head. "Yes! I'm so hungry, Nana! When do we get to eat?!" Such a enlightening child. "Tonight. For now, though, we can have a snack. Let's go to the kitchen... I do have something I'm baking especially for you."

* * *

They were in the kitchen now, which was large and roomy, with stone floors and high ceilings. It didn't double as a dining room, but there was a small, stone carved table nearby for them to use, along with matching stone chairs. Dwarven architect at it's finest, some would say. There were a couple windows across from this table, showing the beauty of the garden outside whilst one enjoyed their meal. It was most certainly a sight to behold. The kitchen hand that was helping the Madame had opened the iron oven that was built into a specific part of the wall made of stone, carefully sticking one more log of firewood inside to keep the heat going for whatever was cooking. Everything in this manor was made with dwarven physicality in mind, as they were the shorter species of Man. Still, every so often a visitor whom was not a dwarf would appear, so the ceilings and doors were much bigger and higher for their intended guests. Just then, their personal chef came out of the pantry door behind Ovgrim, holding something that looked like preserved meat. Perhaps that was for dinner? The chef noticed the little prince sitting quietly in his chair, waiting for his grandmother to finish the surprise she was cooking. "Oi, laddy!" His accent sure was funny. "Whatcha be doin' here? Ya lookin' fer some food?"  
The chef, despite his scary looking demeanor, was actually a very funny and considerate man. His beard was short yet extremely fuzzy, almost like Uncle Duergan's, as black as night with streaks of stone grey. His hair was pulled back into a very tight little bun, covered by a funny looking white hat that the chef always wore. He wore a white apron, as well, which covered up his big, round belly he had while he cooked. He always had this charming twinkle in his old, chestnut eyes whenever he spoke, showing everyone that despite his old age, he had quite the spring in his step. Ovgrim, being raised to be polite to everyone, nodded his head gently as he sat in his seat. "Yes Mister Chef. Nana has a surprise for me." "A surprise, eh?" the chef bellowed cheerfully, his round belly jiggling as he threw his head back in a laugh. He had slammed the meat down on the cutting board near the large cauldron, rolling up his sleeves to prepare the carving. He sure had hairy looking arms, too. Mostly grey hairs. "Ahh, me thinks the Ma'dame is cookin' a very special, lil' somethin' somethin'... perhaps one of the laddy's favorite treats?" Olevia smiled at the old chef and gently smacked his shoulder, causing the aged man to chuckle heavily as he turned back towards his meat. "Now now, Chef. Don't give away the surprise!"

Ovgrim was oblivious to what they meant, his head cocking to the side as he observed the adults quietly. He wasn't sure what the surprise was, but he knew it was obviously one of his favorite treats. But which one was it, exactly? Cookies with raisins? Custard tarts? He was unsure. Olevia, the Madame of House Cadash, grabbed a thick mitten as she pulled on the iron handle of the wall oven, peering inside with the kitchen hand that was helping her. They seemed to whisper something back and forth, with smiles on their faces as they peeked over their shoulders at Ovgrim. What were they whispering about? Was it the surprise? The little boy with the glistening blue eyes sniffed the air, trying to catch a whiff of whatever was cooking. However, being as this room was the kitchen, it was hard to differentiate what smell belonged to which food. There were many hanging herbs and spices, as well as bottles of other garnishments for food neatly scattered all around the cooking area. The chef seemed to also be preparing a stew of some sort in the large cauldron on the fire, which bubbled beautifully and spread the smells of many different things throughout the room. The little prince couldn't tell what the surprise was with all these things masking his senses.  
But soon, after whatever it was in the oven was taken out, he didn't need to rely on his nose at all, for his eyes grew at the sight of the surprise his grandmother had in store for him. "Scones!" Ovgrim stood up excitedly in his chair, bouncing around at the discovery of his grandmother's famous scones. He was watching her carefully pull apart each scone, which had cranberries inside before settling it on a small saucer plate she used to top each one with dashes of cinnamon. After all of these steps, she would present it on a larger platter, ready for everyone to eat with their afternoon tea. It was a simple treat, by all means, but it was most certainly his favorite. The chef let out a quiet, hearty laugh at the boy as the burly man began stirring the stew that was intended for dinner, the little boy's excitement certainly filling the room with joy. "Ovgrim," his grandmother began in a stern yet gentle voice, topping off another scone with cinnamon. "Do you remember what I said about standing in the chairs?" Olevia watched the little boy to sit down properly in his seat, his big, blue, innocent eyes gazing up into hers apologetically. "Sorry, Nana. I forgot. No standing in the chairs." She gave him a warm, caring smile as she handed him a cooled down scone, knowing that this was a normal thing for children his age to do. She couldn't stay mad at such a sweet boy, knowing he was still growing up and learning. The light in his eyes gleamed with joy as he nearly devoured his treat, not noticing the disgruntle sounds of a woman entering the kitchen.

"You allow the boy to eat like some animal, Olevia? I thought you were teaching him manners."

Lelinda.

The kitchen grew eerily silent as the wife to the Head of Noble House Cadash entered the room, her appearance and stern stares causing the chef and the two kitchen hands to simply continue their duties quietly. Olevia stood tall as she returned to the counter to top the last scone with cinnamon, giving her daughter-in-law an expressionless look. "I am," she answers the wife to her eldest son, placing the last scone on the platter. "But he is still clearly just a boy... you cannot push children too hard, or they'll never want to learn anything." The Madame stood firm in her belief on how to raise children, as she has raised four strong, handsome boys of her own. Although this fact was clear in every way, even earning Olevia a higher place within the Merchant's Guild because of her having birthed more than one or two children, Lelinda didn't exactly care. She scoffed and approached the counter, snapping her fingers at one of the kitchen hands to make her a cup of tea. "I came to tell you that there is a meeting with the Merchant's Guild today," Lelinda stated, shooing off the kitchen hand with a wave of her finger. She dropped a sugar cube in her tea cup before stirring it with her silver spoon, gently tapping the excess tea back in the cup. She picked up the glass saucer and slowly, elegantly sipped her tea, her green eyes glancing over at Olevia as she continues speaking. "You haven't forgotten that you are suppose to appear, did you? You are one of the most high ranking members there, after all."

Olevia sighed. She didn't forget. In fact, she was hoping they would have forgotten the meeting or cancelled it altogether. She rather spend her days with her grandson, teaching him to be a good, well-respected man, and play games and tell him stories. But alas, she could not. She moved towards Ovgrim, settling the platter of cinnamon covered cranberry scones on the stone table. "Of course I haven't forgotten. I simply have more pressing matters to occupy my mind," Olevia replied, watching her grandson almost grabbed one of the scones before pulling his hand away. He felt the intense heat rising off the little biscuits, which made him carefully push another scone onto his plate with his fork, learning his lesson from the last time he had this treat. She smiles as she watches her precious grandson as he blew off his scone carefully before taking a bite, crumbs caking the corners of his mouth as he murmurs happily at the taste. "Let me guess: _he_ is what occupies your thoughts." Olevia could hear the disgust in Lelinda's voice as she mentioned Ovgrim, knowing the woman's green eyes were fixated on the child. The aged woman simply stood silent before her, her answer very clear in that silence. This caused Lelinda to groan in disgust, turning her back abruptly as her green, clearly over-elaborate dress swished along with her movements.  
It caught Ovgrim's eye as he took another bite of his now third scone. He liked Mama's dress, as the design on the green outfit were of leaves and flowers, all outlined in a soft, faded blue color and a lighter green on top of that for the designs. She had a hood that was part of her dress as well, which was clipped to her shoulders and brought down around her blouse with the exact lining of her dress, that sort of doubled as an apron-like article of clothing that extended down towards the bottom of her skirt. And there, on this apron-like hood, at her cleavage, was a bright pink gemstone. It was hard to find gems like that, but this one was special. Papa had found it while he was with Uncle Duergan and Uncle Thorthal, deep in the mines just outside of Kirkwall. He thought it looked very pretty.

"So what are you going to do? You can't exactly take him with you," Lelinda stated, twirling around again before leaning against the counter with her arms crossed. Olevia sighed as she looked at her grandson, who was silently observing them as the adults spoke. She knew she couldn't bring him with her. Not to the Merchant's Guild. It certainly isn't a place for children, and she was afraid he would get lost. Or worse. Ovgrim, although only three years of age and not entirely paying attention to the grown-ups, knew that look in his grandmother's eye. He could tell his Nana had something on her mind, which usually pertains to her leaving the manor for a while. "Do you have to go?" Ovgrim's voice sounded so innocent as he asked her, his blue eyes glistening bright and big as she smiles warmly at him. She sat on the arm of his stone chair, fixing his hair before tugging him into a hug which he returned. "Yes, little one. I have to leave for a little while. There is a meeting I have to go to." Olevia would be lying if she said it was easy to leave Ovgrim here, but it wasn't. It truly wasn't. "Will you be back soon?" Ovgrim asked quietly, his eyes drifting to the window to watch the warblers outside flutter in the birdbath. His grandmother laughed gently as she kissed his head, fixing his hair again. "Yes, love. Soon." She looked up at Lelinda, who was simply staring at them with a slight disgruntled look upon her features. Did she really want to do this? Was it the right thing? Perhaps today, it will be uneventful and calm for the both of them. "...until then, your mother will watch over you. You two can have a play date." As soon as the words left the slightly older dwarf's mouth, Lelinda scoffed in a silent, disgusted manner. Olevia wasn't serious, was she? Her and _Ovgrim_? _His mother_? "You mean... Mama and I can play hide and seek together?" he asked enthusiastically, looking up at his grandmother with excitement. She laughed softly as she nodded her head, a blonde curl coming loose from her hair. "That's right. Hide and seek. You are a very good hider, Ovgrim, since you're so small." She nudged her nose playfully against his, causing the child to giggle and laugh happily, despite the displeased, red-haired dwarven woman by the countertop.

This was going to be the worse day of her existence. She just knew it.

* * *

Lelinda was sitting at her desk working on her documents, her expression that of disgust and annoyance at the little boy who sat so calmly in the chair nearby. She was in her study room, peering over at him every so often to make sure he was still sitting there, before rigorously working on her documents. Forgery was a very delicate business, and difficult. The Carta demands the best of the best of penmanship, and Lelinda was the best out of them all when it came to forging documents. But with a child not of her blood in the same room as her, it only created more of a distraction. If she could at least get this done, she won't have to worry and might even be able to get rid of Ovgrim. Her "son." Just the term left a bad taste in her mouth. What was Olevia thinking? She must've lost her marbles letting her watch him.

"Mama?"

Ooh how she cringed at the word! She snorted as her pink lips contorted into that of an angry expression, causing her to set her feather pen down and look at the boy. "Yes, _Ovgrim_?" The little boy folded his hands into his lap nervously, noting how upset his mother was. Could it be her work that was upsetting her? Or maybe he was bothering her again? Should he ask her anyway? He swallowed nervously as he saw her tap her fingernails on her desk in annoyance, making the little boy stutter as he spoke. "Um... a-are we still going to... play h-hide and seek?" Lelinda didn't answer him right away, her hazel eyes staring deeply into his blue orbs before turning her head. He had asked this same question more than once, and it was already getting on her nerves. She sighed angrily before picking up her pen again, delicately and slowly returning to her work. "In a minute, Ovgrim. _Mommy_ has to finish this document before the end of the day... so please, be quiet." Ovgrim sighed sadly before slouching in the chair, kicking his feet out of boredom.  
They have been sitting here for so long, that he was already hungry for dinner. What was she working on that was so important, anyway? What kind of document is it? Obviously one of those very hard to write ones. The child took this time to look around his mother's study room, observing everything within. The massive paintings of faraway lands always made Ovgrim daydream of going there, his eyes taking in the scenes in each painting with an imagination of him running in each one. On one side of the room were many bookshelves that were strangely too high for his mother to reach on her own, making him think that perhaps her personal hand, Dywnson, must climb up and grab them for her. All the chairs in here were not made of stone, but instead made of mahogany, with velvet red paddings for the bottom and back of each chair. And the walls were painted with a very deep velvet red color, which matched most of the mahogany wooden chairs and tables, even the carpet itself against the wooden floors. Still, even the paintings were not helping the boy relieve himself of his boredom.

She noticed he was kicking his feet in the air, thus distracting her again. What should she do to get rid of him? If he keeps this up, she might just lock him up in his room upstairs and be done with it. No. If she did that, Olevia will know and Gerraht will never let her hear the end of it. But then, she remembered something, a wicked grin slithering onto her pinkish lips as her eyes darkened with deceit. "Ovgrim," she called in a singsong like voice, standing up from her chair before giving the boy a crooked grin. "Would you like to play hide and seek _now_?" As the child heard the question, his features lit up, causing him to jump up and bounce around excitedly. "Yes, Mama! I want to play now! Can we, Mama, can we?!" Lelinda's crooked smile grew into a treacherous smirk, the innocent child completely oblivious to her true intentions. "How about this: go scope out the _best_ hiding spot you can find. Once you find it, come get me and show it off. That way, I can see firsthand if it's a safe hiding spot. Does that sound good?" Ovgrim immediately nodded his head, simply dashing out of the room to leave Lelinda alone for another moment to finish her document.

Her plan was far from over, however. It was only just beginning.

* * *

Ovgrim had tried many different hiding spots, all which were proved to be spots where he could easily be found. He told all of the guards and servants that his Mama was playing hide and seek with them, which - unknowingly to him - caused them to all be worried for the young prince. But alas, they played along whilst giving him honest answers about the hiding spots Lelinda would find him in. It seemed all was for naught. How was he to find the perfect hiding spot? There didn't seem to be one anywhere. This manor was so big, that even sometimes Ovgrim would get lost. Luckily, the guards and maids would help him find his way, and Nana would always be there with him. But it didn't help his situation none. He still couldn't find a hiding spot. He sat down in one of the many chairs that lined the halls, his feet dangling off them as he flops his head in his hands. "This stinks. Where should I hide?" He looked down the hall to his right, noting the end table, couch, and large vase he hid around once before. He was caught in those places by Nana, so they were out of the question. The same went for the objects to his left, where he was also caught many a time by Nana. But what he didn't notice before was the heavy stone door not too far away.

That was strange. He past by it many times, but never really noticed it. Ovgrim thought back to something he remembered Papa saying about a door like this. Something like it was closed off. However, it was slightly ajar this time, as if it was left open by someone. It was certainly a sight to behold, this large, looming door. It made him feel uncomfortable and nervous. But maybe, just maybe there was a great hiding spot in there! No one would ever think twice of looking in here, right? What could possibly go wrong?! He furrowed his brows and scrunched up his lips, puffing his chest out in the most determined look he could muster before getting off his chair, making his way towards the door. He was going to find a good hiding spot in there. He was going to be brave! It was big, dark and scary inside, which caused the little boy to pause for a moment to peek in the room. It was a stairwell that descended into darkness, with torches scarcely dotting the halls below. It certainly caused a shiver to move up his spine, but he shook it off. He had to be brave! Like Papa.  
And so, Ovgrim descended below, forgetting to go get his mother and asking her if it was safe. But little did he know, Lelinda had discovered his trail and followed him, witnessing him entering the forbidden room. This was working out too perfectly. Her personal, hired hand worked wonders getting that door opened, and letting the curious child enter inside. Sure, it meant letting that filthy commoner back inside, but it didn't matter for this was going to work. This room was closed off for a reason, as certain creatures from underground kept getting into the manor before through a hole within. This room was special before her arrival. It was once a room used to torment and break the minds of those who dared to cross House Cadash, a basement full of old torture equipment. Gerraht sealed it up, of course, not just because of the creatures, but because of Ovgrim. Well, that won't last long now.

Ovgrim had finally made it to the bottom of the stairway, a couple lanterns lit nearby for him to use. They were too heavy for him, of course, so he couldn't exactly pick them up. Luckily, the lanterns had removeable candle holders inside, which made it easier for him to pick up with his small hands. He held the candle close as he traversed the dark, damp corridors in the basement, his curiosity taking a primary objective over his rational thought at the moment. He had never been down here before, nor had he seen such a place. It was terrifying, especially with these weird white things that seemed to coat some of the walls, and even block him from progressing into certain rooms. There were even devices he's never seen before, with sharp, rusted edges that looked like blades and knives. The mismatched stone floors were caked with something that looked dark red, almost black, with broken chains with cuff laying all about. Some of these chains hung on the walls, too, along with strangely large cages. Maybe this wasn't a good place to hide after all. As he began to walk backwards, he accidentally got his arm stuck in some of the white stuff. It was soft, yet very sticky and coarse. With the way it looked, it reminded him a lot of the cobwebs that he seen the servants clean off the walls with their brooms. Was this what this stuff was?  
Either way, he didn't want to be here anymore. He had to get out! This place was too scary and dark, and smelled really bad. But as the little prince began to make his way towards the entrance, he heard a loud boom followed by complete darkness, the candles being his only source of light. He realized that the door had closed, leaving him inside the basement. He dashed as quickly as he could upstairs, pushing and turning the handle of the door before beating on it with his little fist, calling out as loud as he could. "Hello?! The door closed! Someone please let me out! Please?!" But there was no answer. The little boy was becoming more anxious, deciding to kick the door now before trying the handle again. It was locked. "Mama! Nana! Papa?! Somebody! I'm locked in here!" Ovgrim's heart was pounding faster now, causing him to panic terribly as he continues to fight the door and scream for help. But no mattered how much he screamed, no matter whose name he called, no one could hear him.

He was completely and utterly alone in the dark.

* * *

A figure stood by the large stone door in the hallway, his clothes ragged and dirty, and completely out of place in this nice manor, just as he felt he out of place personally. He knew that if he was caught, he would certainly be killed. Only two people knew he was here, the ones who hired him to do this job. But why this child? He seemed like a nice kid, if not a little too naive. Why did this woman want to lock him in? "Thank you for your assistance," he heard the woman say, her voice too calm and delighted by this development. The dwarven stranger rubbed his nose on his torn glove, looking over this gorgeous, red-haired woman before him. "I don't git it," he said, his Darktown slang talk obviously seeping through. "What this kid ever do to ya? He's just a lil' guy..." She gave him a glare that immediately silenced him, causing him to dig his toe into the carpet and look away. Lelinda scoffed disgustedly by the very sight of him. Such a raggedy old man, such filth. She hired him to do her bidding before, but to always remain in the shadows to avoid detection. If anyone knew she had her own personal, shady dealings with a lowlife thug that was not of the Carta, she would be questioned about everything.  
She whipped her head towards the door, her sinister smile returning once again. "He's a thorn in my side, is all. He isn't of my blood, so I could care less what happens to him." "B-But m'am... he's just a kid." She scoffed disgustedly again, her hazel eyes flaring into his with so much hatred. How dare he question her! Does he seriously want her to turn him in? She could easily take his life as she is giving him coin. She could make any little lie she wanted and everyone would believe her. The perks of being a well-trained grifter. "Perhaps I should call the guards and tell them that a _thief_ broke in, and locked my _son_ in the basement," she reminded him coldly, her hands perfectly cupped in her lap as she stood tall before him. The man shook his head, immediately taking back his words. "N-No, m'am! Anything but that! I... I was wrong to question ya."

"Good boy. Now here's your coin. Run along, and don't get caught on your way out."

Lelinda tossed a small pouch light on coin at the man, who juggled it before catching it properly. He didn't bother to count it. He knew she was good for it, despite being cheaper than last time. It didn't matter, though. Any amount of coin was better than none. "Thank ya, m'am! Ya won't hear from me again, m'am!" The stranger departed swiftly, not making it very far before he heard her sharp voice call out to him. "Wait." He froze in place, afraid for his life as he cradled the pouch of coins close to his chest. Was she going to kill him now? Was there another task she wanted from him? Ancestors protect him! "Don't forget the key."  
Key? Oh, the key to the basement! How could he forget? If she had the key, they would know it was her and probably hang her. Maybe she deserved it, but as of right now, she was his only method of payment for certain jobs. He returned to her side, holding out his dirty palm to receive the key from her lovely hand. "I'll hold onto that there key for ya, m'am. Don't want ya to get in trouble now." Lelinda groaned as she wiped her hand on her handkerchief, smirking to herself before waving at him dismissively. "Yes yes, now go. I've got things I need to do, and _you_ need to disappear." The stranger bowed his head again before departing once more, stuffing the key into his pocket before swiftly making his way out of the manor the same way he came in. Lelinda looked at the large stone door and continued to smile to herself, noting the muffled cries coming from behind it. "Oh the poor dear," she said to herself, faking her worries over the child. "Where _ever_ did he go hide himself now? Oh well. Perhaps I shall return to my study to finish my work."

And with that, she walked away from the stone door, the little boy known as Ovgrim Cadash locked inside and screaming helplessly for someone, anyone, to come to his aid and rescue him.

* * *

Olevia had returned late from the meeting, exhaustion taking over her as the sun began to set in the far West. She simply wanted to go to bed, to lay down and get her feet out of these boots. But not until she sees her Ovgrim, her dashing little prince. He must be in bed by now, taking a nap around this hour. Dinner was nearly done being prepared, so everyone can come and eat together as a family. The tired woman smiled as she climbed the stairs up to the second floor, where all the bedrooms were waiting for their respected owners. Ovgrim's was the closest to the stairs, making it easier for the boy to come down and eat his meals whenever it was made. She had to be quiet, however, as to not wake him just yet. She creeped over and carefully opened the door to his room, peeking inside to see her sleeping prince. Although, when she opened the door a pinch, she saw a cleanly made bed, and no sleeping Ovgrim in sight. Confusion and fear setting in, she pushed the door open entirely, dashing towards the bed to look under it. When she saw her grandson wasn't hiding beneath it, she tore the covers apart, desperately looking for him. But he was nowhere in sight.

She feared this would happen. Her grandson was missing. He was suppose to be taking a nap at this hour! Where was he?! Olevia dashed back out of the room, bumping into a couple of the servants. She was frantic, asking them if they've seen her grandchild, her heart racing and her voice choking on her own words as she spoke. They could see how desperate Madame Cadash was, knowing that she loved her grandson dearly. One explained that Lelinda had told him to find a hiding spot, and that once he found it, to return to her and ask if it was safe. Fear slowly dissolved into anger as Olevia heard this, knowing that Ovgrim's curiosity would get the best of him first, which Lelinda knew all too well. She must've planned this! She must've actually done something to her sweet grandson! "Go find my son, Gerraht. Tell him to meet me in Lelinda's study room. _Now_." The servants was rattled by the sheer vexation in her voice, immediately nodding and leaving the Madame's presence to find Lord Gerraht. Olevia stood still for a moment, trying to recollect herself before gripping her dress, and storming down the stairs. Lelinda was going to pay if something happened to Ovgrim. She would not let her daughter-in-law hear the end of it.

Lelinda was standing over her fireplace in her study as the door was slammed open, the clicking of Olevia's boots storming into the room followed by the sound of her slamming her hand on the desk. "Where is he?!" she demanded, irritation spilling out of her voice. Lelinda turned around to face her mother-in-law, her expression cool as her body language was relaxed. "I don't know what you're talking about," she responded coldly to the Madame, her arms crossed as she stares on. Olevia pushed herself away from the desk, clenching her fists in rage. "My grandson! The one I told you to watch over?! Where is he?!" The red-haired woman nodded her head in sudden understanding, slowly turning back towards the fireplace before shrugging her shoulders in response. "Last I saw, he left the room in search of a hiding spot. A couple of the servants and guards were helping him, but since then, they haven't seen him. I assume he stopped asking for help so he could find one on his own." This caused the blonde dwarven woman to scoff, aggravation setting in. How could she let him go all by himself? He could get lost again, or worse! What if he went into a room he wasn't suppose to? Most of the doors to the forbidden rooms were locked, but still. If Ovgrim even found one way into these rooms, he could seriously hurt himself!  
"Lelinda, if you don't tell me where he is right now, I swear on my Ancestors I will—" "You will what? _Kill me_?" The woman spun around to look at Olevia again, her arms still crossed as she approached the older woman. She wasn't going to straight up tell her where Ovgrim was. That would be suicidal, even for her. She came up to her mother-in-law, leaning into her ear as she whispers her reply to Olevia's unspoken threat. "I'd like to see you _try_ , Olevia. I've done nothing wrong..." Olevia stood silent and disgusted before Lelinda as a series of footsteps began to make their way into the study, followed by a deep, concerned voice that left the red-haired dwarf with a pleasurable shiver down her spine. "Where is my son, Lelinda?" Gerraht demanded, standing by the doorway and giving her this cold, dead stare. It caused another shiver to make it's way down her spine, the sight of her husband's fierceness exciting her once more. "I do not know, darling," Lelinda replied in a sweet voice, batting her eyelashes at him. "He went to go find a hiding spot and never came back. I assumed he's still looking." "Bullshit," he replied, approaching his wife swiftly, standing before her to the point that he towered over her, their noses practically touching.

Such power... it caused Lelinda to gasp quietly at such a delicious sight.

"I am not lying, dear husband... I do not know where Ovgrim is."

She was lying. Gerraht knew it all too well. She did this because he knew this would get her excited in some sadistic way, to see him so calm and collected to the point it was terrifying. She loved that, and he knew it. In fact, any time he's had to get onto her for something like this, causing him to be this horrifyingly calm, she would request sex and turn into his submissive partner. She had such a demanding personality, and being dominated by him excited her. She loved how he forced her into submission, how she allowed him to do whatever he desired to her, even if it hurt. It was sadistic in every way, and she didn't care. If anyone else knew of this, it would disgust them, especially his mother. But what happens between a husband and his wife, stays between them. This was not something he rather speak aloud for their hearing pleasure.

"Tell me _now_ , Lelinda."

Silence stole her voice as she shudders at the powerful timber in his voice, a rush of joy washing over her entire body as she gently moves a strand of his hair from his eyes. She loved playing this game, even if he wasn't letting her win. Might as well give him a hint. "I honestly don't know, Gerraht. But wherever he is, I know he must be _famished_ and _cold_ by now. If he continues to hide, he'll only _torment_ our souls with worry." Playing with words, was she? That was just like Lelinda. Never giving you a straight answer. He replayed the words she stressed in his head; famished, cold, torment... these were important, and he knew it. These were words he remembered his father associating with only one particular room. Gerraht's dark, hazelnut eyes stared into Lelinda's green orbs for a beat before simply walking away, his step faster than before as he moved down the hall to where the looming stone door was that led to the old torture room. If Ovgrim went inside, that means someone opened it from the outside, and once his child entered, they closed it shut, locking it. Never had he thought Lelinda would actually try and get his son killed, especially with the creatures that lurked within the basement. He only prayed his son was still alive.

* * *

Ovgrim had sat down at the bottom of the stairwell, huddled around his dying candle. It had burned for so long, but not enough to emit warmth for the little boy. He sniffled as he wiped his nose on his sleeve. He was scared, hungry, cold, and alone. So utterly alone. He thought back to what Mama said, about once he found a hiding spot, to come and ask her if it was safe. Why didn't he listen? If they did find him, he was sure all of them would be mad at him, even Nana. He didn't want to make Nana upset. He sniffled again, tears still streaming down his round cheeks as he cries quietly into his knees. He was so afraid of being down here alone, of no one being able to hear him scream and shout earlier. What if no one could truly hear him? Was he going to be stuck down here forever?  
He felt his stomach growl at him, causing the little boy to cry out in pain. He was so hungry. Maybe there was a basket of food down here somewhere. It was cold enough. Maybe it preserved some food. He looked at his candle, noticing it was almost completely gone. If he was going to find food, he would have to hurry. If he stayed here another moment more, he would never be able to move again. He gathered the last of his strength and stood up, taking his candle holder again to illuminate the darkness in his path. The torches that dotted the halls down here helped, but there wasn't enough to completely light his path. Following the stoney ground beneath his feet, and careful to avoid that sticky white stuff, Ovgrim tried to find his way to any signs of food or water. He hoped there was something down here. He didn't know if he had the strength to go on.

Yet unknowingly to him, a set of hungry eyes were watching him from a distance. They were waiting, watching, wanting him to move into their trap again. He was so tiny, that he was the perfect prey. He probably wasn't enough to feed them to their fill, but enough to let them last another day. If only the little thing would move into their trap. Ovgrim suddenly felt the eyes on him and turned, using his candle to help light up the darkness behind him. But there was no one there. It made the boy feel uncomfortable, making him move faster and deeper into the dark halls before him, hopefully away from the staring eyes. But more eyes would appear all around him, watching him so closely as he continued to go deeper into the dungeon. Ovgrim had kicked something unknowingly in the darkness, causing a loud sound that startled him. When he bent down to see what it was, he was face to face with a skull with a missing jaw and a broken cranium, with a rat poking his head through one of the eye sockets.  
Ovgrim screamed loudly, calling out to his parents and grandmother before dashing back the way he came. He had lost his candle, his only source of light in the darkness, but his eyes could see the skeletons all around him. Some were strung up on the walls, others in cages above his head, more at his feet that he didn't notice before. What happened to these people? Why are they like this? Did something get them? And just as he thought it was all over, he accidentally ran into the white cobwebs, frantically getting himself more and more stuck as he tried to fight his way out. Tears began to stream down his cheeks again as he cries out for his father, begging him to come save him. He knew Papa would come, right? He had to, right? He hoped he would hurry soon, because it sounded like there was something else besides him down here in this horrid place...

* * *

Gerraht stood before the door to the basement, which was locked as it should be. Olevia was confused as to why they were at this door of all places, knowing it was locked up tighter than even their vault. Why was her son interested in this door? Was Ovgrim inside? Ancestors, please let it not be so! Gerraht tried the handle to see it was obviously locked before putting his ear to it, listening in as closely as he could before he looked down at his feet. There was something on the floor, between the carpet and the door itself. He bent down to observe it, his fingers delicately touching the scuff marks that were scrapped into his wooden floorboards. This door was opened recently, and the small cubby hole in the wall where the key was hidden had been disturbed recently. He stared at these things for a moment more before finally removing the tiny part of the wall where the key was hidden, only to find it was not there. Whoever came and found the key must've took it with them. Gerraht looked up at his wife standing behind his mother, her green eyes gazing into his as he knelt beside the door. If Lelinda has the key...  
He immediately approached her, his eyes set completely on hers as he brushed past one of his guards and gripped her shoulder. He knew her all her hiding spots, even ones that no one would dare even think to look. "Where is it?" he asked his wife coldly, knowing full well she knew what he meant. She shudders quietly, her eyes still gazing heavily into his as her pink lips parted to gasp excitedly. "I don't know what you're talking about..." Lies. More and more lies. Without another word, Gerraht suddenly grabbed her breasts and allowed one hand to rummage in her cleavage in search of the key. This caused Lelinda to gasp at his brashness, aroused by how bold he was to do this in front of everyone. But the key wasn't there in her cleavage, and so Gerraht knelt before his wife and began to run his hand up her skirt, feeling along her legs and hips for any sign of the key. Olevia had looked away at this point, not exactly wishing to watch her son feel up his wife to search for the key on her person. Gerraht had felt along her leggings and undergarments, the key no where within reach. However, something on her hip did prick him, causing him to pause in his search to feel the cool, sharp object that was hidden under her skirt. With one swift movement, he removed the small object from the strap of her lower undergarment and pulled it out from under her skirt, revealing it to be a tiny dagger she always kept for safety purposes.

But it was not the key to the door. As much as he wished she did, Lelinda did not have the key on her person at all.

"Gerraht." He heard his mother call him quietly, his heart heavy at the sound of her terrified voice. "Is Ovgrim in there? Please tell me he isn't..." Gerraht simply stood silent for a moment, gathering his thoughts on how to explain this to Mother. He had to be delicate in his explanation, and not worry her further. "He... quite possibly is inside, Mother," he replied in a gentle voice, his back still towards her. "The key is missing, however. I'm going to have to pick the lock." Olevia cried out quietly as she heard this, her hands cupping over her mouth to stifle her cries. Her poor baby boy! If he was inside... Ancestors! Gerraht approached the door, slipping his wife's dagger onto his belt before kneeling down before the lock, observing it carefully before taking his lockpicks and tinkering with the door. The lock was very complicated and was very old as well, but Gerraht knew he had to crack the lock. If his son truly was inside, he had to find a way in. He wasn't going to let his son die because of this petty ordeal. He was his one chance at redemption for his own actions.

As he nearly broke the lock, a shriek came from behind the door, everyone's hearts jumping at the blood curling sound. "Ovgrim!" Olevia cried, running up to the door and hitting on it. "Ovgrim, love! It's Nana! Say something!" He was alive! Thank the Ancestors! But something was happening on the other side, and she didn't know what it could be. Did one of those creatures see him? Were they trying to eat him? Oh Ancestors please! Protect him! "Gerraht! Get this door opened _now_!" His mother's voice was petrified, her brown eyes full of tears as her son finally picks the last of the lock's defenses. He pushes her aside, finally turning the handle to the door open before turning back to his guards. His voice was cold as steel, his words sharper than any sword they have handled in their life. He was going down there, alone, to find his son. He was not going to let him die. He was going to save him. "Nothing comes in, nor out, except me. Do you understand?" The guards nodded their heads as the Head of House Cadash removed his dual swords from his back, his chestnut eyes staring into the abyss ahead before descending into the darkness. His son's voice will be his guide. He has to find him. He simply has to!

* * *

Ovgrim was stuck on the sticky white cobwebs, screaming for his father over and over, tears streaming down his cheeks as he tried to break free. He was immediately regretting everything that he had done to get him to this point. He was curious and entered a place he wasn't suppose to. Why didn't he come back to Mama and ask her if it was safe? He should've listened to her when he found the door. He shouldn't have went inside! A strange, loud hissing sound came from behind him, causing the little boy to turn his head to the shadows beyond. Even within this darkness, there was an even larger threat looming before him. It was as big as a mabari hound, maybe even bigger, with multiple black, glistening eyes and a mouth with two large fangs protruding from the sides. It's abdomen was bigger than dwarf he's ever seen, and was black as night, with eight, very long hairy legs. It hisses at him again as it watches the little boy struggle in it's web, it's mouth watering with heavy saliva as it slowly approached him. It wasn't going to let it's prey go until it got a bite. It's been hungry for so long, and at long last, the creature was able to trap him. Now to get the boy to stop squirming so much.

But the child didn't want this thing to eat him, whatever it was. He wanted his Papa! Only he will make the monster go away! He has to! "Papa!" Ovgrim called again, his voice nearly gone as he wails in fear. He couldn't call out to anyone, his throat hurt so much. But he continued to cry, praying someone - anyone - can hear him. He didn't understand what was going to happen, but whatever it may be, he didn't want it. He didn't want to die. The creature was upon him now. Standing above the little boy. Ovgrim wailed loudly as the creature began to move it's legs around him, as if it was going to wrap more webbing over his body. He squeezed his eyes shut, tears still streaming down his cheeks as he howls in terror. This was it. He was going to die now, wasn't he?

But, as swift as a stallion, a figure came and jumped upon the creature, which shriek in pain as it was struck with the attacker's swords. Ovgrim quickly opened his eyes to see the figure before him, straddling the monster with their two swords sunk into it's back. Even in the dark, the boy could see the familiar green scarf that the figure wore, his eyes gleaming with joy at the sight of his rescuer. "Papa!" Gerraht grunted at the power of the beast beneath him, trying his hardest to wrangle the creature away to kill it. He was lucky he made it in the nick of time. If he hadn't... No. He mustn't think of that now. His son needed him, and this spider had to die. He sliced the spider's abdomen with his sword as he removed it, gripping it tightly in his hand before swinging it towards the monster's legs, chopping at least two of them off. The spider shrieked in pain again, rearing it's body backwards in an attempt to throw the dwarven man off. Gerraht stood fast, however, as his second blade was still stuck fast within the creature's abdomen. He wasn't going to let this creature get away that easy. He hadn't killed anything in so long... this will be that time. The skilled smuggler king used his free swordhand to stab the spider in one of it's eyes, blinding it momentarily before he sliced at it's other legs, disabling it from running away. He could hear his son screaming in fear and calling his name as he fought the spider valiantly, his focus set on killing the beast for trying to hurt the boy. The spider wriggled it's body in an attempt to throw the man off it again, which - unfortunately for Gerraht - it succeeded. The dwarven man fell from atop the spider only to roll backwards to get back on his feet, his chestnut eyes glaring at the monstrosity as it quickly began to limp towards him. Gerraht had lost one sword, as it was stuck in the creature's back, while the other blade he had was dropped too far from his reach. He had to kill this spider somehow, but what could he use to stop it? Gerraht quickly observed his surroundings, noting the torture table nearby in the room adjacent to this one. It had a device above it that was literally a full size board with man thorns on it, similar to an iron maiden. If he could trap the spider on the table, he could easily kill it.

The dwarven man dodged as the spider lunged at him, rolling out of the way before getting back on his feet and making a B-line for the torture table. The spider was desperately hungry for the larger man, knowing it will sate it's hunger more that the little boy. If only the man didn't fight back so much! But Gerraht was determined to trap the spider, whom was idiotically following him in the exact same path he was taking. The dwarven man hopped over the table and grabbed one of the chains from the floor, spinning on his heel quickly as the spider followed him the same way. As it climbed the table, Gerraht lunged towards it with the chain, smacking it in it's eyes to daze it before he jumped upon it's back where his sword was protruding from. He took this opportunity to chain the spider to the table, making sure it could not break free as he pulled his sword out of it's abdomen. The spider was beginning to regain it's senses as the sword was removed, shrieking once more in pain as it watched the dwarven man hop off the table and run towards a lever. He kicked it hard to activate the device, which slowly began to descend upon the spider. A great idea to kill a trapped spider, to be sure, but it certainly didn't have the speed to do it. The spider was taking this opportunity to break itself free, which was slowly working to the dwarf's dismay. He had to kill this thing! No way was it going to be allowed to win! Gerraht saw the ropes that were making the pulley system work for the device, and with a swift swing of his blade, chopped the rope completely in half. With the rope now broken, the device had nothing to hold it back from immediately falling straight onto the spider, crushing it under all of the sharp knives. It shrieked out one last time, echoing throughout the entire dungeon as he weakly tried to wiggle itself free. Even under the weight of the heavy device and all of those knives, it still lived.

What a depressing, disgusting creature.

Gerraht slowly approached it, looking into the few eyes it had left as he lifted his blade high above him. "This," he began in an terrifyingly calm voice, "is for trying to kill my son." The sound of fast moving metal rung in the air as the smuggler king sliced at the spider's head, cutting half of it's face off and immediately killing it. Never was he going to allow his son to get into danger like this again. Not until he was older and stronger to fend for himself. He stared at the dead spider for a moment before walking away, returning to his son who was still bawling his eyes out for his father. Gerraht retrieved his second sword as he approached his son in the webbing, taking the time to carefully slice the webbing off the boy. Once he was free, Gerraht dropped his blades and grabbed his son, who quickly hugged his father around his neck, desperate to never let go again. "I'm sorry!" Ovgrim cried, his voice barely audible through the hiccupping and sniffles. "I didn't mean— I was only— I'm sorry, Papa! I'm sorry!" The little boy kept apologizing over and over again, fearful that his father was angry and disappointed in him. But Gerraht simply stood silent as his son cried into his scarf, knowing that this was a traumatic experience for him in the first place. He knew that he was only a child, and that no one could've ever predicted this to happen. He sighed heavily as he used one hand to pick up his swords, sheathing one and carrying the other before standing up, his son in one arm as he made his way back towards the stone door that led to this haunting place.

"It's all right now, my son," his father finally replied in a strong, gentle voice, his blonde hair drooping over his chestnut eyes. "It's over now. It's all over."

* * *

Olevia stood fast as she peered into the darkness of the dungeon, praying that her son and grandchild within were safe. It had become too quiet for her liking, and it was slowly killing her inside. Did Gerraht kill whatever was down there? Was Ovgrim hurt? Did they both perish? The Madame had her hands clasped together over her mouth, her thoughts filled with what ifs and if onlys. She blamed herself for leaving Ovgrim with Lelinda, not realizing how low she stooped just to be rid of this sweet baby boy. Suddenly, every bone in her body rattled as she heard the familiar cries of Ovgrim, softer than before, but most definitely him. Was he alive? He had to be! That was his voice, she'd know it from anywhere! Lelinda had stood just a few feet behind her, watching the darkness for her husband to appear. Part of her was half hoping that he didn't return with the brat, but knowing Gerraht, that was impossible. He would've saved the boy before letting him get hurt. It was _his_ son, after all.

"Ancestors please," Olevia whispered, desperate to see the faces of two of her boys. "Please let them be safe! Bring them back to me."

As if the Ancestors heard Olevia's prayers, Gerraht appeared from the darkness, holding a now quietly crying Ovgrim in his arm while his sword was carried in the other hand. The Madame nearly cried out in joy as she ran towards them, ignoring the guards trying to hold her back as she grabs her grandson out of her son's arms. "Ovgrim! Oh my sweet boy!" "Nana!" he cried, immediately releasing his father to grab his grandmother in a tight embrace. :Are you all right?! You're not hurt, are you?" she asked as she held him close to her chest, observing him for any wounds. He was lucky to only have dirty, torn clothes. Thank the Ancestors! If anything were to happen to Ovgrim, Olevia would never forgive herself. As the child began to wail a little louder, Gerraht looked over at Lelinda, who simply stood there silently as observed him. They both knew what the other knew. That Lelinda did cause this somehow, and that Gerraht knew it. But that soon would be pushed aside as Lelinda's personal assistant, Dywnson, approached them, followed by two guards holding a filthy dwarven man by his arms. The Lord of House Cadash turned to see the men approaching, turning on his heel to meet them halfway. "Somebody get this door shut," he demanded to the other guards that stood there, whom replied with a "yessir" and began to close the large stone door. Dywnson had a gleam in his greyish eyes as he stopped in his track before Lady Lelinda's husband, his journal and feather pen in hand as he points to the man the guards carried with them.

"We have found the culprit!" he beamed, pointing with his finger frantically. "This man was caught trying to escape using one of the abandon passageways underneath the manor. We intercepted him after we discovered some footprints he left behind." Gerraht leered at the figure the guards had captured, his chestnut eyes narrowing as he observes him. "A thief?" "I believe so, serah. We don't know what he took, if anything at all. But he most certainly was here!" The smuggler king peered his eyes at Lelinda's personal assistant, who simply moved out of his way to allow the lord to search the man himself. "We knew you would want to handle the matter personally, serah," Dywnson replied, bowing his head respectfully. Lelinda caught a glimpse at the man the guards had, and it simply made her smile. Dywnson was a very competent man, and worked so swiftly. Not only did he hire the fool to do her bidding once more, but now he found a way to permanently get rid of him. Oh joy!  
Gerraht approached the man, who seemed dazed after being caught trying to escape. He looked like Darktown trash, which didn't make sense as to why he tried to steal anything from the Cadash family. They were well-respected and extremely feared by almost everyone in the dwarven community. Why risk death stealing from him? He patted him down with one hand, searching every pocket he had, including the pockets with holes in them. As he finally made it to his coat pocket, he felt it. It was small and thin, yet thick and long enough to be what seemed like a key. If it was made of silver with a black string around it, then he'll know. As he dug his hand into the man's pocket, he began to stir, noting that he was captured and - from there - began to panic. He saw the smuggler king himself, Lord Gerraht of House Cadash, standing before his very eyes. Never had he seen the man. Only heard stories, he did. He couldn't believe it, but here he was. Just the sight of him made the dwarf know right away what was going to happen next.

He was going to die by Lord Gerraht's blade.

Gerraht held the little key in the palm of his hand, his face expressionless as he stares at it's details. It was most certainly a silver key with the black string wrapped around the ring, this key that belonged to the very door his son was trapped behind. How this man even known where to look to find it was beyond him, but now the culprit was clear. He was the one who trapped his son behind that door, locking him inside before making a run for it. Foolish piece of trash. "S-Serah Cadash!" the thug spoke timidly, stuttering terribly as he tries to explain himself. "I-I-I didn't mean to be in your manor, serah! I was only trying to—" "Where did you get this key?" Gerraht asked coldly, his expression unreadable as he glares up at the man with his eyes. Those dark, chestnut eyes. The man swallowed the lump in his throat, trying to speak clearly. "I f-f-found it, serah. In that hole in the wall. I swear!" Gerraht didn't move from his spot, didn't break eye contact with the man as he glares so deeply into what felt like the man's own soul. It was very unsettling. "Who ordered you to do this?" "N-No one!" he lied immediately, knowing that even mentioning his accomplices would only make things worse. He was going to die anyway, but he didn't want to risk his family getting hurt because he gave Lelinda up. She was not a woman one should cross.  
Gerraht didn't believe him. There was more going on here than he knew, and it was bothering him. Why did this man try to steal from him? He approached the prisoner, his eyes staring even deeper into the man's gaze that it nearly made him urinate himself. He was terrified by Lord Cadash's presence, as any man in their right mind should be. He, too, was not a man one should cross, for it would mean immediate death to all his friends and family. He rather die than let countless innocents he knew die for his mistake. "Did you lock my son in the dungeon?" Gerraht finally asked, causing the prisoner to shudder in terror. He didn't answer him right away, his throat choking on his own words. "Did you lock my son behind that door?!" he shouted again, his voice even more angry and powerful than moments before. Lelinda sighed softly at the sheer power in her husband's voice, ravishing silently at his violent nature that she has come to desire so passionately. She certainly enjoys violence, especially from Gerraht.

The man finally answered, his voice weak and small as he nods in reply as well. "Y... Yes. I did, milord." Gerraht stood there, silent for a long time as he observed the man before him. A thug from Darktown, possibly hired to do something here in his manor, yet failed and locked his son inside the dungeon. It seemed simple enough, but there was more to it. He simply knew it. Lelinda had to be involved somehow. She loaths Ovgrim, and he knew that. He will learn the truth from this prisoner.

Even if he must kill him.

Gerraht turned his back to the man, looking at his mother as she held the slightly calm Ovgrim in her arms. He was in complete shock, and was too afraid to let go of his grandmother. The boy will probably be scarred for life now because of this. His son. His only child. He stood silently, rage building up more and more as he clenches the hilt of his sword, glancing up for a moment at his wife. It was only for a split second, his chestnut eyes meeting her green orbs. And then, Gerraht took a deep breath through his nose and snarled, spinning as both hands gripped the hilt of his sword and sinking it into the man's gut. The prisoner barely made a sound besides a painful gasp, blood spilling from his lips as Gerraht sunk the blade even deeper through him. Lelinda had shivered ever so excitedly from this, completely aroused at the violent death she watched her husband perform. Never had she seen such delicious violence from him quite like this, her very soul quivering with all sorts of wild, lustful imaginations of what he could do to her. Dark and filthy fantasies she wanted him to preform on her in bed.  
Olevia had covered Ovgrim's eyes with her hand as she turned from her son, not wanting the child to witness this act his father preformed on the prisoner. Crimson fluid spilled onto the carpet as the smuggler king twisted the blade in the man's stomach, the razor sharp sword cutting his insides up beyond the point no healing magic could repair. He leaned into the man's ear, his voice so soft as he stare disgustedly at the large portrait of his father, the previous Lord of House Cadash. The painting of the rugged, tired, angry looking dwarven man did nothing to ease Gerraht's anger, only fuel it more. "Did my wife hire you?" he asked in an inaudible whisper, only letting the man be the one to hear his voice. The thug, gasping onto what little breath he had left, gazed his eyes over at Dywnson before setting them on Lelinda. He could see her villainous smile, her eyes like ice as she stares on excitedly. No one could hear his question. Perhaps, even in death, it wouldn't matter if he told the truth or not. He choked on his blood as he tried to speak, closing his eyes as he accepts his death at the hands of Gerraht Cadash.

"...yes."

Gerraht bowed his head as he received his answer, his eyes closing as he whispers in his ear one last time.

"Thank you."

He twisted his blade one last time before pulling it up into his body, immediately killing the Darktown thug as he took his final breath. The smuggler king removed his sword from the lifeless body, blood spilling all over his boots and clothes, as well as the floor. Some of the pooled blood made it to the stone past the carpet, following the thinly lined path each rock was set in. Gerraht was the only one who knew the truth of what happened today, his vow of silence to releasing that truth now in effect. As much as he despised what Lelinda did, as much as he should sink his blade into her and be done with it. He knew he couldn't. Not because her family is almost equally powerful, but because he desperately loves his wife. Yes, she's sadistic and loves violence. Yes, she is sick and deserves to die for her cruel ways. But he does love her in some extent. He will continue to keep her in check, to hold her back from causing another crisis like this again.

And from that day forth, it took Ovgrim Cadash many, many years before he would play hide and seek again.


End file.
